I'm Bêtô

3

 I have never seen anyone as passionate about football as Ni. I know it. Know even better than those who don't.

 Twenty-two people divided into two factions, easily distinguishable because they were dressed in different colors, competed for a round object called a ball. And a twenty-third man ran after them, with a whistle in his mouth. That's the referee.

 We dogs also like to play this game. But instead of a ball, we fight for a bone, maybe just a tiny fishtail.

 Of course we aren't divided into two factions. But there are countless factions. There are five dogs that are five factions. And ten factions, if from somewhere run five more.

 We don't even need a referee. If someone claims to be a referee, it'll just say so. Because it instantly became a faction.

 The bone is of course more attractive than the ball. Because it's edible. And because we fight for something edible, we fight a hundred times more furious than football players. Tears often. Sometimes even blood. And on the ground are always groans.

 In the past, war broke out just for food. Although people always try to cover up with lofty things.